


The Neglected Gardens

by EntreNous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Developing Relationship, Gardens & Gardening, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Muteness, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-03-09
Updated: 2009-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco has enough problems with his son without Blaise suggesting his gardens are in need of improvement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For rarepair_shorts, an HP rare pairings community. Each part of this story has been/will be written in response to one of the thirteen prompts I'll complete for the community challenge (see [my table here](http://entrenous88.livejournal.com/665962.html)). 
> 
> ~~My standard disclaimer for stories I haven't updated in some time: This particular story stands unfinished, but I do think about it, and hope to finish it one day. As I have no immediate plans to continue it, however, please decide yourself whether you wish to undertake reading something that's very much a work-in-progress at present. If AO3 users want to subscribe to the story in case I do update, that might be best for people who prefer to choose completed fics. Thank you.~~
> 
>  **ETA, 11/8/2015:** Please note I've tagged this story "Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued". I'm including it with my other archived items on AO3 in part for completion's sake, and in part because if anyone is hoping to find a fic with these characters and this set of tropes, well, here it is, unfinished though it may be. Thank you.

Draco glanced around: desiccated gardens to his left, proliferating ragweed to his right. Everything around him suffered from neglect.

He touched a green leaf nearly choked by weeds and then jerked his fingers back when the vine twisted about in search of contact.

"Master?" A house elf popped into the clearing behind him.

He shrugged to indicate he was listening.

"Young master is not eating his porridge this morning," the creature continued. Without turning to look, Draco knew that the elf was wringing his hands. "Flitty knows Master wishes to hear how young master gets on, so he came to tell him straight away. Flitty is offering to make anything else young master desires, but young master just shakes his head every time Flitty is suggesting buns or making eggs or offering to--"

"Thank you," Draco said softly. "That will be all."

A pause, and then the elf disappeared with a _crack_.

He drew himself up. This refusal of food occurred with more regularity lately, and Draco had vowed to put a stop to it. Really, Scorpius had not eaten so little since he was a toddler, and even then his mother had been able to --

With a shaky breath, Draco turned and strode towards the Manor.

*~*

"I think not, not until you eat the last of it," Draco advised as Scorpius made as if to slide off his chair.

His son scowled, but once again picked up his spoon and began poking at his breakfast.

"We'll get Flitty to bring back ice cream later if you finish it all. Would you like that?" Draco let his hand rest on his Scorpius's head, smoothing back some of the fine gold strands. With a sigh, Scorpius leaned toward him.

"Draco?" Blaise's head appeared in the grate.

"Ah, Blaise." He gave a half-smile, feeling distinctly out of practice welcoming guests. It was only the occasional contact with former school friends such as Blaise that kept him from being completely cut off from society these days. "We're just finishing here. Step through if you like."

Blaise immediately did so, brushing the soot from his robes. "You would think you would clean your Floo every so often for us poor stragglers who refuse to abandon you. Why, if you keep on this way, no one will ever --"

Scorpius dropped his spoon with a clatter. At least his porridge was gone, Draco observed as his son rushed from the room, only a quick duck of his head in acknowledgement of their visitor.

"Charming," Blaise commented, a tip of his head indicating the door by which Scorpius had made his rapid exit. "All due to your fine influence, no doubt."

"Shut it," Draco returned without much feeling. He had mainly given up on urging Scorpius to observe basic social niceties on the very few occasions the boy might need them. These days, he was happy if his son just ate and slept.

Blaise regarded him with keen eyes. "You look horrible. Worse than usual, I mean."

Draco resisted the temptation to peer around to the mirror so he could see his reflection. "Thanks ever so. Tell me, is there a reason you're here?"

"I need a reason to visit you?" Blaise walked forward to the room's edge, opening the door to the verandah.

When Draco hesitated, Blaise shook his head. "Oh, he'll be fine without you hovering about. He'll sprawl out on the floor with a pile of books and a house elf waiting in the wings for any chance to coddle him. You can leave for a short walk."

"Already had a walk," Draco muttered, but he followed Blaise outside.

"I've never seen the grounds look so horrid," Blaise observed as they leaned together on the stone railing. "I can't imagine what your father would say."

Draco snorted. "Lucky he's in France for the foreseeable future then, isn't it?"

Blaise made a face at the knotted tangle that used to be the start of the rose garden. "Very lucky."

"Not that I don't relish your oh so tactful thoughts on my appearance and home, but I'm wondering what makes you so free with your helpful observations today."

Blaise turned, leaning back on his elbows. "Well, all of it makes sense today, doesn't it?" At Draco's carefully blank expression, he clarified. "Scorpius acting even more odd and unfriendly than usual. The gardens in this horrid state. You looking as though you haven't slept in a fortnight."

"I don't know to what you're referring."

The other man brushed off the cuffs of his robes, as though he had not already seen to them only moments ago. "It was a year ago today, wasn't it? A year since Astoria died."

Draco turned sharply on his heel and made for the house.

"Look, Draco, I know it has been difficult for you and for your son," Blaise called as he followed. "But you can't just stop seeing people, stop living."

"What am I supposed to do?" Draco asked in frustration. Part of him wanted to strike Blaise for saying something so mundane, that it was _difficult_ for him and Scorpius. Blaise had no idea -- no one had any idea -- how dark and terrible life had been since Astoria had taken ill and died early last spring.

But there was also a piece of him that genuinely wanted to hear: what _was_ he supposed to do? With his mother gone and his father living abroad, he had no real family to advise him or offer support. What he knew of rearing children or dealing with grief would barely fill an inch of parchment. The one person to whom Draco would have entrusted his fears and hopes about any of this was gone forever.

Blaise stepped closer, and when Draco didn't move, laid a hand on his shoulder. "I would say you should start mingling in real society once more, or at least get out of an evening. But perhaps we should start with something more realistic."

"Like what?"

Blaise sniffed, looking every bit the haughty pureblood instead of the concerned friend. "Well, if you're going to skulk about here all the time, why not begin with these wretched looking grounds?"

Draco frowned. "I have enough to take on without --"

"I hear Longbottom does work on private estates for ridiculously low fees," Blaise put in.

"Longbottom?" Draco shuddered.

"He's supposed to be ever so good --"

"Anyone but Longbottom, thank you."

Blaise flashed a sly smile, and Draco realized with some alarm that he seemed to have agreed to something.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Draco is persuaded to do something about his horrid gardens, he must convince his choice of gardener that he's the man for the job.

"You do realize a pair of Venomous Tentacula has taken to defending your water gardens?"

Draco's brow wrinkled as he tried to recall that plant from Herbology. It sounded dreadful, whatever it actually did.

"And you've a chorus of Screechsnaps letting out blood-curdling shrieks at anyone who tries to get near the herbs? Though where they got even a modicum of dragon dung, never mind an excess, is anyone's guess --"

"All right, so there are rough patches. But you'll fix all of that, won't you?"

"Mr. Malfoy, I don't know that any of this _can_ be fixed. Certainly it would take an enormous amount of money to compensate anyone who so much as tried."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, well, money. I have _that_."

The other man drew himself up. "Let me be clear I cannot imagine any gardener willing to take on this task, no matter how much you offered."

For a moment Draco stood abashed. Blaise had told him it would be the most realistic to start with the gardens, and yet the expert recommended to him by everyone (well, everyone who had been assured he would under no circumstances hire Longbottom) was pronouncing it impossible.

He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering how Astoria had spent a whole day planting Flutterby bushes, marking what she had declared would be a children's garden. Draco did not see much value in plants created to flutter without wind, but Astoria had exclaimed over them, and Scorpius, then only one year old, had cooed approvingly when he saw them from her arms.

Draco shrugged. "If you are not up to the challenge, I can't see why you should remain on my estate a moment longer."

The gardener's cheeks reddened. "Not up to the _challenge_ \--"

"You really had best leave," Draco advised. "I would not want to have to set my collection of ambulatory Fanged Geraniums on you."

As the other man stumbled off either to hasten himself beyond the anti-Apparition points bordering the Manor's grounds, Draco spied a small tow-headed figure, half-hidden behind a flowering tree.

"Do you suppose we actually have any ambulatory Fanged Geraniums?" Draco asked Scorpius. "And if so, would you mind helping me herd them in that prat's general direction?"

The grin on his son's face was the first smile Draco had seen from him in weeks.

*~*

"Why me?"

"Well, you're good at this sort of thing, aren't you?" Draco drummed his fingers impatiently on the side table.

Longbottom gave him a shrewd look. "Still, I'm curious."

"Look, I'm not entirely unaware as to what goes on around me," Draco snapped. "I didn't need to ask many wizards to discover you are the man I need. You obviously excel at the practice; I've gardens upon gardens that need tending, nearly all of them containing interesting and rare species. In exchange for your efforts, I'm willing to pay top galleon, in addition to giving you whatever clippings and seeds you desire."

Longbottom's eyes widened. His lips parted, and Draco focused on his mouth, waiting for the words, "I accept, thank you," to emerge.

"I --," Longbottom began. Then he sighed. "I can't."

Draco flinched. "If this is about what went on during our last year at Hogwarts--"

"No," Longbottom answered. His tone was surprisingly firm.

Draco blinked. The image of Neville Longbottom as he had behaved at lessons during that ill-fated year rose before his mind's eye. Longbottom had been one of the few outright refusing to cast Unforgivables on other students, at first with trembling voice and shaking hands, later with confidence and defiance.

"It's not that," Longbottom said slowly. "So many people -- we were boys then, and some were not as strong as others. We have to move past that time."

Draco's jaw dropped. Longbottom, implying that _Draco_ was weak?

"Look -- it's just -- I don't like you," Longbottom continued.

"No, no," Draco said in shock. "It's me who doesn't like _you_." It seemed very important to establish that from the start.

"Well, why are you asking me to take this on, then?" Longbottom asked. "Anyone supervising this project will be around often, and for some time."

"Because everyone tells me you are the best," Draco said through gritted teeth.

A noise beside him, and Draco turned to find Scorpius clutching his sleeve with his small hands.

"It's all right," Draco said in a low voice.

Scorpius's gaze flicked to Neville, and back to his father. He inched closer still to Draco.

Neville gave him a small smile. "Hallo."

Scorpius bit his bottom lip.

"What's your name?" Neville asked kindly.

Scorpius shook his head.

Draco started to say, "His name is --" when Scorpius turned and fled. "Scorpius," Draco finished with a sigh.

"Shy, is he?" Longbottom asked with an understanding nod.

"No. I mean, yes. He just . . . well, he doesn't speak."

"Oh, I am sorry," Longbottom hastened to say.

"He _can_ speak," Draco clarified. "Only . . ." He cleared his throat. "Since his mother passed on. She was the one who kept the gardens, actually, and they've been neglected ever since." He brought his hand to rub his eyes; he must be in dire need of sleep if he was confessing such things to a Gryffindor with so little prompting.

"Oh, I see."

"Well." Draco rose. "I see no reason in either of us wasting any more time on this matter. If you need help seeing yourself out, Flitty will assist you."

"Wait," Longbottom blurted out. He gazed toward the door through which Scorpius had escaped, and then sighed. "When do you want me to begin?"

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Neville takes in the state of the gardens, Draco has his own observations to make.

The first day Longbottom showed up to work at the Manor, Draco made certain he was otherwise occupied so he would not have to make idle chatter or answer ridiculous questions.

Of course, being otherwise occupied meant finding something to occupy himself. And so he made his way to the study and pulled the ever-growing pile of unanswered correspondence toward himself before reaching for the dusty quill at the corner of his desk.

His back was to the window, as the chair had been positioned so when his father had been the only one to take up the post behind the grand desk in days past. Not that Draco would have chosen personally to arrange the room that way; he rather liked having scenery before him when he paused in his work. There were many things in the Manor he had not yet placed as he might have liked, choosing to leave most of the furniture and objects in the configurations his parents had made. Still, the chair's situation seemed an appropriate position for the work he had to accomplish, dealing with all those unanswered personal letters, invitations, and business queries.

It was some hours later, his forehead a bit sweaty with wisps of hair stuck to it and his fingers stained with the last of the ink not yet dried up, that he finally turned to glance outdoors. The sky had taken on a soft blue as the sun shone ever brighter, burning away the morning mist that had earlier blanketed the landscape.

As Draco squinted at the grounds, the first thing he noticed was Longbottom ambulating about, observing the area and making notes, and seemingly carrying on an animated conversation with himself.

Draco snorted. Of course a Longbottom would be barmy enough to talk aloud to himself; his father had made deprecating comments all the time about that family --

And then he caught himself, and thought with a start that Longbottom's parents were not, as it happened, naturally mad, but had been tortured into being so, by his aunt and others.

He grimaced. Aunt Bellatrix had never been someone he had chosen to spend time around. He had only met her when she had left -- escaped, he corrected himself -- Azkaban. Throughout his childhood his mother had made regular visits to the prison to see her sister, but she had never wanted to take Draco with her, even disagreeing vehemently with Draco's father when Lucius offered that it might be a useful lesson for their son to meet her.

Bellatrix had been the mad one, really, with her cackle and passion for torture, though her lessons in Occlumency the summer before his terrible sixth year had proven useful at the time.

Draco frowned as he set aside the last of his letters. How useful had they been really, though, those exercises in blocking his thoughts? If Professor Snape had been able to penetrate Draco's mind that sixth year, he would surely have seen through Draco's plot to kill Dumbledore and bring Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Indubitably his Head of House would have put a stop to the machinations the Dark Lord had ordered, and then . . . perhaps things would not have unfolded as they had.

Draco realized he was chewing on the end of the quill; something only Ravenclaws and perhaps Granger did in classes at school. He threw the instrument to the desk in disgust.

He sighed as he got to his feet, stretching his cramped legs and rotating his hands at the wrist before rubbing the heel of his left thumb with his opposite hand. As he did so, he leaned back against the desk, watching Longbottom continue to walk and jot down something or other on a notebook. No doubt he was writing down varieties and species, but Draco shifted as he wondered what else was going in that book of his. He might be writing anything about the Malfoys, and Draco himself, in amongst the scribbles and scrawlings about Screechsnaps and Tentaculae.

As Draco kept watch, Neville Longbottom took a few steps and then stopped, making a sort of sweeping gesture as he laughed. Well, Draco thought as he blinked. Perhaps he was a bit mental after all. They all had been through a great deal, he supposed.

Then Draco espied a small figure some ten paces away from Longbottom, keeping partially hidden behind some rows of now-barren bushes, but nonetheless inching along in Longbottom's wake. Scorpius. His blond hair was mussed and his robes were muddy as he stole along, obviously not making any sort of answer to Longbottom's ongoing conversation, but at the same time clearly keen on staying close by.

So Longbottom wasn't mental, Draco thought as he turned to his letters, realizing he had not yet tied them for the owl post. He was merely talking to Scorpius, who though he was lurking in a manner most unbecoming to someone of his lineage, had obviously taken an interest in their new guest.

Not a guest, Draco corrected himself as he walked the passage leading to his Eagle Owl's perch, but a worker. A gardener.

When the gardens were in their proper state again, though, perhaps Draco _would_ have guests to the Manor. A sort of afternoon party for Blaise and Pansy and some of the others, among the Flutterby bushes and roses and whatever else Longbottom managed to dredge back into a semblance of living.

No, Draco thought, he would make certain whatever plants Longbottom cultivated and handled, they would be flourishing, not merely living, before Draco declared the job complete.

Draco hummed to himself as he tied the first of the letters to his owl's leg, After Eltanin nipped him affectionately on his forefinger, Draco took a deep breath and set off with the rest of the pile of correspondence. The Owlery where he kept the other owls had been almost abandoned for too long; it would do the birds good to have tasks to occupy them. No matter that the Owlery was kept not too far from the area where Longbottom and Scorpius were walking together; Draco had responsibilities to see to.

 

 


End file.
